That afternoon, a rideshare car rolled into the driveway of the cabin next door, the one that had been empty for months. The tires crunched over gravel. The car stopped. The driver got out and popped the trunk.
Arin barely glanced up, expecting a tourist with hiking boots and a cooler of beer.
Then she stepped out.
Tall. Polished. Dressed like she’d accidentally walked out of a glass-and-steel skyscraper and into a small-town postcard. Her blazer was sharp enough to cut fruit. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but not the way she carried herself.
She didn’t just walk.
She arrived.
Sana paused mid-tape, staring openly. “Is she a movie star?”
Arin swallowed a laugh. “Maybe she’s just… rich.”
The woman crossed her porch, paused at the fence separating their yards, and looked around as if the quiet itself was unfamiliar. She pulled off her sunglasses, and Arin saw eyes that were clear and tired at the same time. Like someone who’d forgotten what a full breath felt like.
“Hi,” she called, voice calm, almost careful. “Sorry to bother you. I just checked in, and I can’t find the Wi-Fi password anywhere. Is it… written on a router or something?”
